


Heartbreak is Savvy and Love is a Bitch

by Cuda (Scylla)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Castiel in the Men of Letters Bunker (Supernatural), Castiel's not the most experienced dom, Dom Castiel (Supernatural), Episode: s11e14 The Vessel, Established Castiel/Sam Winchester, Established Relationship, Humans are complicated, Implied/Referenced Torture, Lapdance, Light Angst, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Men of Letters Bunker Garage - Freeform, Post-Episode: s11e14 The Vessel, Safewords, Sam Winchester Deserves to be Happy, Sam Winchester is Bad at Feelings, Sam Winchester is Bad at Self Care, Sensation Play, Sub Sam Winchester, Supernatural Kink Bingo 2020, This could have gone better
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-15
Updated: 2020-02-15
Packaged: 2021-02-27 22:14:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22743100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scylla/pseuds/Cuda
Summary: Castiel and Sam work on some fractures in their relationship. A gentle attempt at sensory play goes awry, leaving them scrambling to ratchet things back up to normal. Part of the 2020 Supernatural Kink Bingo.
Relationships: Castiel/Sam Winchester
Comments: 8
Kudos: 33





	Heartbreak is Savvy and Love is a Bitch

**Author's Note:**

> The title of this piece is taken from the lyrics of "Love is a Bitch," by Two Feet. I recommend giving it a listen while you read. [ [x](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vFfaXch9X3E) ]

"Close your eyes," Castiel said. He filled up Sam's vision, shoulders square and body tight, blocking his view of the little red MG in the dubious privacy of the garage. Sam looked him over from his perch on the low wall of a motorcycle bay, fighting the urge to smile and apologize at the same time. For the fifth time since he followed Castiel into the garage, Sam reminded himself that this wasn't his gig. His suggestion, yeah, but Castiel's invitation. Castiel's location and Castiel's rodeo, and he needed nobody's permission to stop.  
  
"Sam," Castiel reminded, gently. His hands were at his throat, tie slipping from under his collar with the soft zip of satin.  
  
Sam sat up a little straighter, arching his back to feel the muscles stretch. "We could have used my room," he said.  
  
All motion ceased. "Would you prefer that?" Castiel asked.  
  
Sam offered his hands, palms up. "You seem more comfortable there, is all," he said, and shrugged.  
  
Castiel moved closer, and Sam could see the MG again around him as he arrived at Sam's left side. He let the suit jacket slip from his shoulders and slung it over the rail behind Sam. "I'm comfortable," he said. Flipped his wrist to open the buttons on his cuff.  
  
"Not nervous?" Sam teased.  
  
Castiel paused and looked up at him; the only motion in his body. "Not nervous," he confirmed, "are you?"  
  
"No. Why?"  
  
"Because you haven't done what I asked."  
  
Oh. Right. The whole shut-your-eyes thing. Trying to look properly conciliatory, Sam straightened his back, put his hands on his thighs, and did as he'd been told.  
  
"Maybe a little," Sam admitted.  
  
After a pause, he heard the light pop of buttons opened in impatience, and the dry sweep of cotton on skin.  
  
"I suppose your room would be more private," Castiel said, "but Dean isn't due to be back until tonight. And I like it here. I've thought about what might—occur—here. Quite a bit."  
  
Eyebrows up, Sam couldn't stop the tiny twist of his smile, showing Castiel one sharp white canine. "That's kinda naughty, Cas," he said, not at all surprised to hear the smoky arousal in his own voice.  
  
"It is," Castiel replied. Sam heard the soft scuff of his heels on the concrete floor, and the weight and heat of Castiel settled over his thigh.  
  
Instinctively, Sam caught his hips to steady him. "Okay if I touch?" he asked, a little too late.  
  
Another pause, long enough for Sam to nearly apologize again, before Castiel's hands covered his. "I don't mind," Castiel said, and urged Sam's hands upward, sliding them along the contours leading from hips to ribs. Sam's fingers splayed on warm skin and sliding muscle. As he touched, Castiel took a deep breath, letting it out in an appreciative noise. Sam caught his breath, surprised by the richness of sensation. Surprised by the way Castiel's body curved. The angel's silhouette in his mind was boxy, broad, sharp-edged. Castiel under his hands here, now, could have slipped along the edges of that outline without catching; could slip in and out of it again with room to spare.  
  
"I didn't know you liked the garage so much," Sam said, eyes still closed. He let his fingers follow the small of Castiel's back, riding up to the soft ridges of shoulderblades as he leaned closer to Sam.  
  
"I didn't either, until very recently," Castiel replied, the words exhaling heat against his neck. "I enjoy the utilitarian nature of the space. It's orderly. A very human space. And the smells." His fingers sifted Sam's hair, sparking a new roll of shivers down Sam's spine, "It smells like you."  
  
On his next inhale, all the scents of the garage scuffed against Sam's senses. The cars. Fuel, solvents so pungent he could taste it in the back of his mouth. Layers of old smoke and leather. Scents soaked into Sam's DNA. No wonder he felt calmer in here; safer. More like himself. It smelled like home. Like the Impala, minus the ghost of old takeout and aftershave.  
  
"Huh," Sam breathed, inhaled again, and wondered. "Does this really smell like me?"  
  
Castiel's body pressed against him. He cupped the back of Sam's neck. "Yes. When you've been on the road for days. You smell like this. I've thought about stripping you right here, pressing you back on the hood of the green automobile—"  
  
"The Thunderbird?" Sam corrected, half in amusement, half in wonder at the sheer audacity.  
  
"The Thunderbird," Castiel echoed, tasting the word, "An appropriate name, considering the noises you make when I touch you."  
  
"What can I say," Sam retorted with a breathless laugh, "you're good with your—"  
  
He sucked in a gasp as teeth pinched the skin of his throat. A little adrenaline surge, here. A little reminder of danger. He was protected, guarded, loved by Castiel. But he wasn't _safe_.  
  
"You're not a _tame_ lion, are you," Sam murmured, pleased to startle Castiel into stillness. Into a soft inhale. He felt it under his jaw; felt his pulse jump to meet it.  
  
"C.S. Lewis," Castiel answered, and did he sound approving? It poured warmth into a completely different part of Sam than the hands on his skin and the teeth on his neck.  
  
"You've read them?" Sam asked.  
  
"Not in the manner you imply. But you're right," Castiel said, "More testy housecat than lion, these days."  
  
"You aren't—" Sam's words snapped off as Castiel's thigh pressed into the apex of his legs.  
  
He felt the weight shift over his thigh.  
  
"Sam," he said quietly, "tell me the safeword."  
  
A shiver rolled through Sam, riding an electric current of arousal. "Red," he replied. Silence spread out in the space, while Castiel's thumbs massaged the meat of his shoulders. His chest radiated heat, an inch from Sam's face.  
  
"I need you to keep your eyes closed," Castiel reminded him. Whatever this was about to be, on the angel's tongue it still sounded urgent and earnest, like a kinky rendezvous in the shop was going to save the world somehow. It was never 'do this,' but 'I need you to do this.' Tugging the cords of Sam's Gordian knot psychoses.  
  
Castiel continued. "And I need you to be silent. The safeword is allowed."  
  
Here it came. Sam felt like someone snapped a spotlight on him. An interrogation lamp, maybe. He'd known it was coming, but knowing it and hearing it were two different things. He took a breath, shallower than the last, and bobbed his head. Castiel's hands touched his arms; nudged them lightly until Sam dropped his grip. His palms rested lightly on Castiel's thighs; riding but not guiding.  
  
He felt fingertips trace his throat, skating down to open the buttons of his shirt. He lifted his chin, jaw squaring up until he willed it to relax.  
  
Castiel leaned into him, bearing his weight down on Sam's thigh. Sam felt Castiel's belly press into his own, shared warmth bleeding through Sam's undershirt between them.  
  
" _Breathe_ ," Castiel ordered, and Sam's body obeyed, letting out a ragged breath. When he inhaled, he tasted the spice of Castiel's skin; the faint metallic tang of sweat. His forehead dropped, colliding with Castiel's chest.  
  
Castiel slung himself into Sam's lap more fully, climbing on the rungs of the stool to mount both thighs like a horse. Sam's muscles clenched and released in waves, rolling in sympathy with Castiel's as he hooked both heels in the rungs and rolled his hips into Sam's. Words rose and fell, pushing their way to Sam's mouth to be swallowed again. He couldn't speak. Couldn't control this; couldn't predict it, couldn't test it half a dozen ways to find the endgame.  
  
He had to be here. Only here. Not an hour ahead; not in another time zone or another reality. Here in his body, heartbeat pumping hard in his throat while an angel rode him like a carnival carousel. While touch and breath sparked the tinder of his unpredictable arousal into a controlled burn.  
  
Castiel lifted himself from Sam's lap, turned and returned, pressing his naked back into Sam's chest. His hands found Sam's again, loose and kneading his own thighs. Castiel tugged them around himself, one at his stomach and the other at his crotch, and it got pretty clear pretty fast that he'd been doing more than a little serious thinking about exactly what might 'occur.' With his head tucked back into Sam's shoulder, Castiel used the callused palms and fingers to write on himself; filthy symbols pushed into his skin like he wanted Sam to reach inside him. Sam felt like he had, like he'd plugged into Castiel somehow. He could feel the willing heat in the way Castiel arched; in the little, hungry way his thighs stretched further apart over Sam's thighs as he brought Sam's hands down to his belt. Castiel wanted opened up as much as Sam did; opened and touched and seen.  
  
Then he was gone. Sam's front felt chilly from neck to knee, lap empty without his weight. Reflex nearly got the better of him, and his eyes cracked to show the red blur of the MG's bumper before he pressed them shut again. The silence and the chill continued for a few seconds longer, and pins of adrenaline fired in his brain like the cap of a bullet.  
  
Hands touched his shoulders from behind.  
  
Sam jumped. His stomach dropped with a nauseating lurch of fear.  
  
He didn't have time to form a coherent sentence. The panicked parts of his brain screamed that this was _it_ , it was _over_ , everything good was a lie about to eat him alive again.  
  
He spun, snatching at the hands that held him. Before he knew it, he had Castiel's wrists in a deathgrip.  
  
They stared at one another. Sam fought to breathe, tight chest aching. He snapped his hands open and pulled back.  
  
"Red," he panted, with what little air he could punch out of his lungs.  
  
Castiel looked stricken. He stepped back. "Are you all right?"  
  
It made sense of course, for Castiel to stand at arm's length. To give him space and wait for permission. Sam hated it. He held out one hand, dropping his eyes, not quite sipping a full breath until Castiel's fingers laced with his. He shook his head hard, stepped into Castiel's body, and relaxed as he felt the angel tuck around him.  
  
"I'm sorry," Sam said, eyes to the floor, "I should have known better."  
  
"You have nothing to apologize for," Castiel said into his neck, "I should not have taken my hands off of you."  
  
They stood together quietly, letting the minutes tick off without mark, until the adrenaline petered out, taking the burn of arousal with it. He could tell Castiel had something to say; somehow the angel seemed to take up more space in his arms, like the unsaid words filled him up to bursting.  
  
"C'mon, Cas," he said, softly.  
  
Castiel sighed. "I want to give you this, but I have reservations. At times, this feels like a trust exercise. Not a sexual encounter."  
  
Asea in misery as he was, Sam had to chuckle. Only Castiel could say 'sexual encounter,' straight-faced, and not only refer to his own sex life, but to sex he fully enjoyed. "I meant what I said," Sam offered, "I want to do this with you. I trust you. My body's just a little behind the curve."  
  
He wasn't lying, but he wasn't exactly truthing, and they both knew it. Sam could see it, plain in Castiel's eyes.  
  
Gentle but inexorable, Castiel laid hold of Sam's collar, and pulled him down into a slow, seeking kiss. A kiss of mercy, maybe, and Sam clung to it.  
  
"Your reflexes have kept you alive, and your grasp on reality is as tenuous as mine," Castiel said, with an earnest certainty that galled as it melted Sam's heart. "Let's continue slowly. With something solid and secure at your back."  
  
"How about the headboard," Sam offered, and paused a moment before adding hopefully, "and the cuffs?"  
  
Hunger flared in Castiel's eyes, followed by caution. "I don't know, Sam."  
  
It took a breath or three for Sam to set his disappointment aside. He couldn't - wouldn't - force the topic, not when so much between them rested on precarious trust as it was. Funny, he used to be so good at patience. But so much time had been lost, and he was so tired of his own liabilities. Somehow in the passing years of his life, Sam started pushing the envelope like a fighter pilot. Hurting himself didn't seem like a high price to pay for the bigger picture. For getting to the good stuff. For trusting Castiel with his life and his body again.  
  
"We _will_ get to them," Castiel added, pulling back to lift Sam's chin with his fingertips, "I can promise that. When we're both sure."  
  
Sam swallowed, as his words reminded him of the way things used to be. Of the dark and the light and the hunger they'd brought out in one another. "I'm sorry, Cas."  
  
The fingers under his jaw caught his chin lightly, bringing his eyes back to Castiel's. "Sam," he said, gently reproachful.  
  
"I know," Sam muttered, ducking his gaze without pulling away, "But you shouldn't have to deal with this."  
  
Sam caught the way Castiel's jaw tightened. Caught the soft, defeated sigh. "I love you," Castiel replied, "you are _not_ a burden."  
  
The words weren't enough. But that was why they were here after all, weren't they? Sam submitting, putting himself in Castiel's hands again and again in the hopes that when he woke up with his soul and his life still intact, he'd feel different.  
  
One day, he'd believe it too.  
  
Sam leaned into the hand that held his chin, kissing Castiel slowly. Closed his eyes and felt Castiel press into him, back arched and fingers curled in his shirt with a longing that couldn't be feigned. He marveled sometimes how Castiel could turn it on and off; from a ruthless warrior of God to the soft, desperately affectionate person in his arms. There was so much of him, so much Sam might never see.  
  
It was the invisible stuff that scared him.  
  
The invisible stuff, that turned him on.  
  
"Bed," Sam murmured, gratified to feel Castiel's smile bloom against his mouth.  
  
"Yes," Castiel said.


End file.
